


saved

by disorderedorder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gentle Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wing AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 01:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15474681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disorderedorder/pseuds/disorderedorder
Summary: in another world, when you are loved, you grow wings  to show it.





	saved

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](http://inkskinned.com/post/138673319039/in-another-world-when-you-are-loved-you-grow) tumblr post.

The first time you had ever met Kylo Ren, his wings were hidden under layers and layers of heavy black robes, stumpy little things that looked as though they’d been burned before, feathers torn out at the stem, the beginnings of a few just beginning to poke out. The skin, though damaged, was not permanently or severely enough so that they would not grow at all, for it would be impossible to prevent them from coming back. Of course, there were methods of surgery that existed to remove the wings altogether, but those had been outlawed on many planets, and was considered criminal and punishable by death by most governments and ruling establishments. Even the First Order, who looked down upon the wings that grew from every being in the galaxy despite race or species, banned the practice of surgically removing the wings from their troops. Despite this, many—if not the majority—of the First Order had very, very small wings, and those with larger ones often kept them hidden under coats draped over their uniforms.

The Order’s reasoning for bringing you aboard the Supremacy had been a bit unusual. From the beginning, you’d been told you would be serving as a companion for their commander, as a sort of confidante and counselor, and you wondered if your own wings had anything to do with it. Outside the Order, wings determined someone’s self-worth, as toxic and horrible as that concept could be sometimes. You’d seen beings off all different species and races, with wings with spans up to ten feet, to wings small enough to hide underneath a simple shirt, and you’d read stories of the heroes of the Rebellion, whose wings eventually grew too heavy, too large to fly. They were the galaxy’s ultimate status symbol, everything else eschewed for the size of someone’s wings to determine their class ranking. You knew rich politicians with wings they could hide easily, and poorer people with wings big enough to shield themselves from the rain. Some, like you, with large wings, were sometimes paid for their companionship by the hour to make sadder, lonelier, less-loved beings’ wings grow, even just a little, even if it was temporary.

In all your time alive, you had never seen an ugly pair of wings, for there were really no such thing. Most humans had fluffy, feathered wings that arched gracefully like angels’ wings, that spread wide like birds’ wings when they wanted to, and that fluffed up when they felt that surge of love. Other species had wings that fit their own anatomies, some resembling insects’ wings, some with leathery, pointed wings like reptiles, but the thing that they all had in common was that they grew bigger the more that they were loved. However, there were small things that you noticed, like some celebrities who had wings that were clearly enhanced with extensions and add-ons to make them appear larger, people who hid their long, fluffy wings so they could avoid ridicule in areas where the wings that were commonplace were small and stumpy, rulers who wore artificial wings made of gold and wire and gemstones.

Your own wings were a mix of grey and black feathers tipped with red, soft and fluffy and whose tips touched the floor when you walked, the arcs of them reaching high above your head by at least two feet, and when extended, spanning at least nine feet. By some chance, you had been fortunate enough to grow up on a peaceful planet, in a family of farmers and gardeners with wings just as big as yours. Of course, you had never not preened some days and lost feathers, and the first time you had your heart broken, you had them come out in handfuls when you combed through them with your fingers. Some mornings, you woke up with the gentle poking of feathers at the edge of your skin, the pricking feeling of them about to sprout as you were called down for breakfast and greeted with kisses to your head and a cup of juice pushed into your hands. Other mornings, you felt feathers already poking their way through, spouting rapidly when you were wished happy birthday, or when it was a special holiday.

The lack of wings in the Order was jarring to you, and things were made ever more odd by the fact that you were the only one with visible wings at all times. The Order had something of a reputation for being wingless, but extremely good at reading others’ emotions despite lacking the big indicator of their own. The clothes you were given were high quality and finely crafted, if usually quite simple and monochrome, to match the commander, which only enhanced your wings. In the light, they had a sheen to them that was evidence of the care given to them over the years, and if touched, as sensitive as if someone were to touch your hands. You took to lifting them, ever so slightly, so the tips wouldn’t drag on the ground, but you soon learned, over time, that even in one of the coldest, hardest places in the galaxy, the people were still capable of love. The tingle of new feathers coming in was an occurrence that happened less often now, but it never fully went away, and when you talked to the officers and even the troopers, you could feel your wings tingle and wondered if they felt it, too.

Supreme Leader Snoke had no wings. The rumors went that they were forcibly removed from him by his old master, carved out with crude instruments and cauterized with a lightsaber to prevent them from ever growing back. This bothered him little, though, and you could feel it through the Force. You possessed very few Force-sensitive qualities, not nearly enough to choose one side or the other to fight for, but sensing feelings was one of the things you could do. Captain Phasma had larger wings for a commanding officer, with silvery grey feathers that she was forced to keep tucked against her muscular back, the tips just touching her thighs. They were too small to fly with, but big enough that they were telling, that her troops possessed some sort of love for her. General Hux had wings that were hidden easily underneath his greatcoat, stumpy little red things that matched his hair, that occasionally fluffed up and settled back down just as fast, but never truly grew. Behind closed doors, you knew he often willed them to grow, wished they would even sprout a little. One of the troopers, one who was being considered as captain material by the general himself, had abnormally large wings for someone in the entire order, beautiful brown and white spotted wings that were a good four feet in wingspan.

Kylo Ren’s wings had been damaged by his master, but not to the point of no return. Small, stubby black feathers poked their way through the delicate skin, and in the light, they shone a beautiful blue-green. The soft black down that just barely covered the tops of his wings was even more sensitive than yours, and every time something brushed them, he shivered and covered them with his cowl. You could feel his conflict within him, the secret sadness he had for having such small wings, the same willing feeling the general had when he wished his feathers to grow each night, for his wings to get bigger. There were multiple times you wished it was as simple as touching his wings to make them grow, but you knew better than anyone that it was never that simple. He slept with his wings tucked in tight against his back, blankets wrapped tightly around his shoulders to keep them warm, wishing for more feathers in the morning.

As his companion, you offered company at any time he needed it, but in the beginning, he let you roam the massive starship alone, requiring you only at meal times and when you wanted to retire for the night. It was in the time you spent meeting other people on the ship that you realized that the Order was not devoid of love entirely, and the size of your wings stirred an envy from others that was not malicious in nature, but rather, a longing for wings as large and fluffy as yours. You sensed their feelings through the Force, and even the highest-ranking officers stared at your wings with an uncharacteristic longing for their own to be larger, wondering what it would be like if their own wings were like yours. It was as a result of their feelings that you made a stronger effort to be kind, to show you cared for everyone you ran across, in hopes you could cause their feathers to grow, even just a little, or at the very least, make them feel the same tingle you did when you could feel feathers just beginning to poke through.

Sometimes, you could sense the coldest, sternest officers’ wings fluffing under their uniforms just the tiniest bit when you told them good morning, the loneliest troopers’ new feathers tingling when you sat with them to eat in the mess. The captain herself saw a bit of growth in her own wings when you were around, especially when you walked the barracks with her and made friendly, if controlled, conversation. Even the general began to sprout small tawny feathers when you stayed on the bridge to speak with his officers controlling the ship. Your wings grew ever larger, feathers too long to keep from dragging on the floor, even when you lifted them a bit, your shoulders and back getting stronger to support them. You could never extend them, for your wingspan had grown in your time on the Supremacy- from nine to twelve feet- and you sometimes knocked things off shelves and tables if you weren’t careful.

It was only when Kylo Ren began seeking you out more that you got to see his wings, and what might have been more shocking than the scarring and the places where feathers had clearly been pulled out were the new baby feathers that sprouted just below the downy black feathers. He told you that they grew each night, just a few, and they never got bigger, but they also never fell out. His wingspan didn’t even match his shoulders, coming just short of his arms when fully extended. They were extremely disproportionate to the rest of him, his six foot eight frame more than capable of supporting huge wings, ones that could be bigger than yours. Some nights, he laid in bed with his head in your lap, wings shedding the few feathers that were there, leaving bare skin dotted with beauty marks like the rest of him. You stayed up all night with him when that happened, stroking his bare wings and willing something to grow back by the time morning came.

It was only after you began spending more time with Kylo that you noticed your own wings fluffing up more often, growing new feathers each day that you had to preen each night, growing so much that you could cover yourself entirely with your wings, even if you were standing. At the same time, you felt warmth through the Force, a gentle longing and the feeling of falling in love that was the cause of your wings growing, and the lonely, brooding commander you accompanied everywhere was the source of it. While you once thought it would be impossible to find love in the Order, much less fall in love, once you dug deeper and made an effort to understand him, you found Kylo easier to love than you originally thought. There was something hidden, buried deep inside that you found coming out when you were around, a part of him that only wanted love and affection, not power or control.

Soon, his wings began to grow, albeit slowly at first. The soft down that crowned the tops of his wings stopped falling out, and the baby-sized wing and contour feathers began to grow and get longer, fluffier, and soon, Kylo was waking up with scores of feathers that tickled his bare skin. The relationship you had between the two of you was hard to define; while it was a close, intimate relationship that you felt was strong enough to trust in, it was not yet lovers, something between the gap where friends to lovers met. Still, your love for him was strong enough, meaningful enough that his wings began to start balancing out with the rest of his body, sprouting feathers so fast that he was constantly brushing them out of the way. When he looked at you, his feathers fluffed up, making him look bigger than he really was, and it took a bit of smoothing to get them to lay back down and stop looking like a startled cat. He still grew feathers that weren’t from you, and he still cried when he combed through his newly-grown wings to find them coming loose, falling to his knees and covering himself with his wings as he clutched his loose feathers in his hands.

You couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment when you fell in love with Kylo, but you did know that when you did, your own wings fluffed up when he looked at you, touched you, pulled you close. Your wings were still bigger than his, but not by much, and together, the two of you could hide beneath the combined size of your wings. His feathers were even more beautiful all grown out, the primaries at the bottom of his wings just beginning to brush against the floors, shining a gorgeous blue-green-black even in the harsh, artificial light of the ship. With the rapid growth of his wings also came the need for him to preen nightly, something he never had to do before and something he approached you about. You couldn’t help but mention that preening together was something that couples often did for each other, which had turned Kylo a lovely shade of pink. Kylo realizing new things that came with having wings and someone who loved him never failed to enchant you, but the same things also made you a bit sad. He was nearly thirty and hadn’t experienced this much love since he was a child, since before he left the Jedi Order.

Before Snoke’s fall, the two of you laid awake at night, preening each other as you shared stories of your lives before the Order, straightening out-of-place feathers and smoothing unruly ones that never truly stayed down. Between you, a close, intimate bond in the Force had formed, something that allowed you to feel what he felt, sense his discomfort and pain, access his memories. He could do the same for you, of course, but mostly, you comforted and spoke to each other through the bond. Kylo’s wings, before the hunt for Luke Skywalker’s map, were as big as yours, lush and full with plenty of feathers, and even though you found little bald spots some nights, no doubt from Snoke, Kylo’s wings continued to grow ever larger, his back gaining more strength from carrying wings now much too heavy to fly with, feathers that he allowed to shamelessly drag on the floor when he walked. But things changed once Kylo began to be more involved finding the map and his uncle, and your time together became less and less frequent, and for the first time in many, many years, you found your feathers falling out in small handfuls. Of course, you had plenty more to hide where they had been falling out, but sleeping in a bed alone most nights and wandering the ship by yourself began taking a toll on you faster than you thought it would.

Your wings never seemed to shrink, but you knew they drooped more often, your primaries dragging more than usual than if you were keeping them held up, and you sometimes wished that you could hide them when they drooped so much. Kylo’s presence in the bond was less frequent than before, and when you reached out to him, you were met with nothing; it was cold and dark and hollow when you knew it shouldn’t be. Your nights alone were now spent plucking loose feathers and disposing of them, usually via the incinerator. Preening alone was a lonely task, and timely, now that you no longer had Kylo gently combing your wings with his fingers to fix your feathers. Sometimes, your loneliness caught up with you so much that you slept with your wings covering you like a cocoon, because it was the only big, warm thing you had to make you feel less alone at night. The ugly thoughts you had at night had to be forced away by sheer will, and even that wasn’t enough sometimes. Just as jarring as the lack of wings in the First Order when you had first arrived was the absence of your partner and the love he gave you.

The night he returned, he was shedding feathers, drenched in sweat, and stumbling around your dark room, looking for you, and the amount of noise he was making was what woke you up. It had been nearly impossible to hide your hurt when he returned, but it was also clear to you that he could feel it too, judging by the sorrow in his eyes when he looked at you. His apologies came out in a flurry, so desperate and full of hurt that you had been forced to drag him into the bathroom and run the bath for him just to get him to settle down. His explanation had come out between you washing his hair and ridding him of his loose feathers, revealing many bald patches that you just managed to cover with some thicker patches of feathers. But even with his return, you felt no familiar prickle in your wings where new feathers should have been poking through to replace the ones that fell, not even a slight movement under your skin. Instead, you felt nothing, and when you finished taking care of him, the most you had the energy left to do was curl up, covered by your wings, and ignore his distressed noises and his concerns that you were shedding.

It’s been two weeks since Supreme Leader Snoke was killed, since Kylo took up the mantle, since General Hux received a brand new white uniform to represent his promotion to Grand Marshal, since Captain Phasma was gifted with a new red cape to signify her new position as General. And even with your own status changed to Supreme Leader consort, you don’t feel any less lonely than when Kylo was still gone. Your feathers, while just beginning to grow again, grow so slowly this time, and you still have bald patches you have to hide. It matters little to you that you have colorful, pretty dresses to wear instead of being confined to all black, or access to your own little ship to leave the Finalizer whenever you want, if you want to take little day trips down to the planets nearest to you. Touch starvation is something new to you, and despite the fact that you can request an audience with Kylo and it would be granted on the spot, it’s still not enough for you, and you wish that for once, he’d call for you first, the way he used to.

Curled up on your bed, you comb your fingers through your feathers, straightening the loose, unruly ones and brushing your fingers over the smooth, still-bare patches where feathers haven’t grown in quite yet. From across the ship, you can sense Kylo wrapping up his duties for the day, reconvening with the General and Grand Marshal, plotting their next course of action. It’s impossible to block him out from your mind due to the bond, but you do your best to ignore it as you push aside your empty dinner plate and wipe your eyes with a soft washcloth in preparation for bed. It’s early, but you’ve been going to bed earlier and earlier since Kylo returned, so it’s easier to ignore his knocking at your door. He does it every night without fail, for a good ten or so minutes before he gives up. Gingerly, you settle down into bed, wings draped over the side and laying partially on the floor as you get comfy on your side, even though the bed is larger than average-sized. It’s surprisingly comfortable for you to sleep exclusively on your sides each night to accommodate your wings, and no matter how much you tell people, they never seem to believe you.

You’ve only just drifted off when you hear the same knock at the door you’ve heard every night for the last two weeks, at the same time, without fail. It jars you fully awake as you reach to cover your ears with a pillow, just like you have been doing, but Kylo’s insistence this time is enough to prompt you to roll out of bed and answer the door, if only to make him go away. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders and neck to cover yourself a bit, and you trip over the long, droopy primaries at the tips of your wings as you make your way to the door. Kylo’s knocking, while soft, is still insistent, and constant enough to keep you awake. A part of you wishes he would stop, but the part of you that knows better knows he won’t, at least, not until you talk to him about the wedge that’s driving you apart. Night time is no time to discuss it, not when you’re this tired and exhausted and a little angry, if you’re being honest, but it’s the only time you know Kylo isn’t busy trying to get the Order back into some sort of organized system again, and the only time when his full attention can be on you.

When you open the door, it hits you for the first time that your time spent away from Kylo has taken a serious toll on him as well. The dark circles under his eyes are like deep bruises, and while he’s taken care to shave and wash his hair, the natural bounce of his hair and the glow of his skin are gone, giving him a gloomy look that makes him look like he hasn’t slept in a month. He rubs at his eyes roughly, and when you get a look at his glove after he drops his hand back at his side, the leather is damp with tears. His full lips tremble as he takes in your disheveled state, and you notice his gaze lingers on your drooping wings. His fingers twitch, as though he wants to reach out and touch you, but he clenches them tighter, in restraint.

“Little One,” he whispers. “Can I come in?”

You pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders as you avert your gaze from him, trying not to let your emotions show too much on your face, and how much his own sadness is getting to you, too. As you shrug, your wings go up and down with your shoulders, and they feel like weights when you lower them.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I thought you’d be running off to make someone else’s feathers grow.”

He’s too tired to look as shocked as you know he is, but you can feel it through the Force enough to know how much it affects him. “You know I would never,” he says.

“Could have fooled me,” you say. “You were just gone one day, nothing in the bond, not even a sign you were planning to come back. I had every reason to believe you were off somewhere letting someone else do what I always did for you.”

He shakes his head, looking even more upset than before as he covers his face with his hands for a moment. “I’ve come back every night since I returned, begging you to talk to me, and you turn me away each time. But I can’t just leave you here, knowing how you feel. I want to talk, Little One, I don’t want to lose you.”

With the corner of your blanket, you rub your own eyes, your vision becoming blurry with tears of your own, and you step aside to allow Kylo’s huge frame to cross the threshold of your room. His wings are just as droopy as your own, shedding feathers as he walks. As the door slides shut behind him, you flip on a few lights, kick your discarded clothes aside and move your dirty dishes to the sink in your little kitchen area. Kylo makes himself comfortable on your large, cushy bed, brushing his shedding feathers off the comforter every so often when they come loose. The sight of him in your room after so long feels almost abnormal to you, and even the feeling feels off, a tension that was never there before. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, but you get a couple of glasses of water for the both of you, because if anything, you’re still a good host.

“Then let’s talk,” you say as you cross your room to hand him his glass of water, settling yourself in a high-top chair adjacent to your little bar-style counter.

“I never meant to leave you, Little One,” he starts, after a long drink of water. “It was never meant to last as long as it did, but I didn’t want to endanger you by trying to bring you into it all. You could have been killed, at the very least lost your wings. I wasn’t going to let that happen to you.”

“But what about the Supremacy, what about the Supreme Leader, what about my feathers shedding, Kylo? Do you have an excuse for that, too, or am I just never going to know?” you reply, and no matter how much you try to keep your voice even, it still cracks mid-sentence.

“I have no excuse, Little One,” he answers, which shocks you; he usually doesn’t take the blame for things like that. “I became too invested in...little things that didn’t end up mattering in the end. And I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what causes your tears to flow more freely, his confession or the tiny, pinprick feeling of baby feathers just barely poking through your skin. With one hand, you set your glass down on the counter, with the other, you cover your mouth, turning away from Kylo as you take in the weight of what he’s just said. From behind you, you hear the rustling of feathers and bedsheets, followed by a sudden warmth at your back from where Kylo is holding you, covering you with his wings as he wraps his arms around you. Sobs wrack your body as you shake, letting your tears flow freely, and Kylo rocks you gently in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head as you cover your face with your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Little One. I’ll never leave you like that again,” Kylo apologizes, turning you towards him gently as he guides you off your chair and towards the bed. He settles down first, leaning against your headboard, and eases you into his lap, your legs wrapped around his waist as you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“Did you ever stop loving me?” you ask, almost too quietly to be heard.

“No,” he replies. “I never did.”

You think of your molting feathers, your droopy, sad wings, but there’s little to say about them out loud now. The cause could possibly be you losing hope in yourself and in Kylo as well, which could explain his loss of feathers, but on the other side of things, he had been dealing with people who hated him as of recently as well.

Kylo’s hands are gentle on your own wings, smoothing your feathers in the way that he knows you like, the way that soothes you for bedtime, but you shift in his lap, lifting your head from his shoulder to kiss him. His lips are just as soft as they always have been, his kisses never hesitant, but gentle, loving, comforting as you kiss him over and over. You can feel Kylo tracing the tendons of your wings, trailing down your bare back, tracing the low back of your nightdress, cut to accommodate your wings. You shrug the straps off your shoulders, and Kylo’s hands at the cloth still covering your chest surprise you enough to make you pull away, breaking your kiss.

“We don’t have to, Little One,” he murmurs. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“It’s been too long,” you reply with a shake of your head, your hands going to the drawstring of his pants. “I missed you.”

Kylo simply lifts his hips to allow you to pull his pants and underwear down, and as soon as he kicks them away, off his ankles, you wrap one of your hands around his cock, the length of him dwarfing your hand, and you begin to stroke him, slowly, firmly. He’s hard in your hand in no time, but before you can lift your dress and get on top of him, he unwraps your hand from his cock, pushes you down gently until your back hits the bed, your wings extended on either side of the bed as you gaze up at him with wide eyes. He inches your dress off your body, before ridding himself of his shirt. As nimble as a cat, he climbs down between your legs, his own wings spread wide to keep them out of the way as he gets his mouth on you to eat you.

His own feelings of arousal, combined with your own touch starvation, only heightens your sensitivity as he closes his mouth over your cunt, his tongue gentle as he licks at you, thrusts his tongue inside you, sucks your clit until your legs are shaking and your hands are in his hair, pulling as hard as you dare. Your breaths are short and rapid as Kylo slides two fingers inside your soaked cunt, adding a third and stretching you further when you whine and try to close your thighs around his head. He sucks your clit hard, plush lips wrapped tightly around it as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, increasing his pace when your panting becomes little moans, and when you cum, his name escapes your lips in a breathless sigh as you clench down hard on his fingers, your cunt fluttering as he draws it out as long as possible. He lays there for a moment after you come down, lapping at you, tasting you, sucking your cum from his fingers.

“You never let me make you cum first,” you sigh as Kylo pulls you back into his lap, pressing you gently to his bare chest. Teasingly, he bites down on your ear, gently, and he purrs as you squirm around from the sharp feeling of his teeth.

“I would much rather attend to you first, Little One,” he says. His hand is wrapped around your wrist as you fumble for a moment before wrapping your hand around his cock once more, guiding it towards your dripping entrance. You feel his grip tighten when you get him inside you, sinking down several inches all at once, but you catch his lips in a kiss, and he eases up as you guide yourself down to ride him, and while he’s so much to take, all at once, especially after so long, you feel like you can’t have enough. But even if it’s not the first time, his girth and length are so much, and you’re forced to slow down as you get closer to the base of his cock. You rest your forehead on his shoulder as you take a few deep breaths, sinking down those last few inches, until he’s filled you so much that you think it might be a little hard to breathe.

“You take me so well, I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he moans, and he gives you a few long moments to adjust before you start riding him, your hips meeting his every time. He grinds up into you, seating the entirety of his cock inside you, basking in your hot, tight heat, before letting you feel the drag of his cock inside you as he thrusts up inside you.

This time, it’s your hand guiding his when you grab his wrist, bringing his hand down to rub your clit. You’re so close to cumming already, between the constant pressure his cock is putting on your cervix, to his lips and teeth worrying dark marks on your neck and collarbone. Kylo begins rubbing your clit hard and fast, knowing what you need just as much as you do, and you cry out as your free hand clutches hard at his hair. You cum at the same time he presses his lips to yours again, his tongue tasting like your cunt, letting you taste yourself on him as you whine and moan and ride out your orgasm as he kisses you, rubs you through it. Behind you, your wings fan out to their full length. He’s chasing his own release immediately after, thrusting harder and faster than before, and when his own orgasm hits him, he pushes you down flush with his hips as his cock twitches inside you and you’re filled with warmth. Kylo’s wings don’t extend when he cums, but rather, they twitch as though they’re being petted.

You stay together like that for a long time, Kylo still inside you, before he wraps your legs around his waist and carries you on shaky legs to your bathroom. You’re only somewhat aware of Kylo cleaning the both of you up before gathering you in his arms again, tucking you into bed, and curling up in front of you to hold you and keep his wings flat against the mattress on his other side. You’re drifting off faster than he is, and his fingers running through your hair soothe you, smoothing the last of your ruffled feathers and your insecurities.

“Kylo,” you murmur.

“Yes, Little One,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

“Love you,” you reply. “So much.”

You can hear him smiling when he answers, pulling you even closer to him to nuzzle your hair. “I love you too, Little One. I never stopped, and I never will. I promise.”

  

* * *

 

  
The next morning, you wake to scores of fluffy feathers, both yours and Kylo’s, filling out your wings and then some. They’re absurdly full now, new feathers pushing older ones out of the way, taking up what must be three times as much than before, both your plumage much thicker. It’s almost comical, but in the same way, it’s just as charming. Kylo is more startled by the sudden change than you are, but that makes it all the more funny to you. He spends half the morning preening his new feathers while you try to distract him with breakfast, which only works a little. However, you think that it’s more adorable when he begins fawning over your feathers, insisting on preening them for you while you settle in close to him. It’s then when you know that he never did stop loving you, not even for a moment, not even when you were shedding your own feathers by the dozens, for no lover would ever do what he does for you if he ever faltered in his adoration.  
  
Your wings were not your status symbol, not a way to show off, not an excuse to brag about their size or amount of plumage. They were a representation of your love for Kylo, biology be damned. 

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on my [tumblr](http://clydelogan.tumblr.com/). I hope you enjoyed!


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